


Makeshift

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not quite a Disney Classic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makeshift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [Twice Told Fandoms](http://www.innergeekdom.net/Twice/index.htm) based on this picture: [Flower](http://www.innergeekdom.net/Twice/10.jpg). Special thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman** for choosing picture and fandom.
> 
> Originally posted 7-31-07

The first time he brings her to the flat, he’s nervous and embarrassed in equal measure. Matthew’s off filming…something that’s likely to be either completely ignored or a cinematic masterpiece, as the boy doesn’t seem capable of a middle ground, and so it’s just Ioan and her in the flat that’s been in the sole proprietorship of two blokes for nearly three years.

He’s done his best to clean it, though it required a great effort to shove all of Matthew’s stuff into his room, and he’s relatively sure that he’s not going to have a chance in hell of getting to Matthew’s plant to water it before Matthew gets home or the plant dies, whichever comes first. Why Matthew has a plant is another matter entirely, and one that Ioan’s not quite sure on.

“It’s very nice.”

He loves her voice. It’s cultured in a way his isn’t, but not so _English_. He imagines it’s the language training, but maybe it’s more the soft tone of it, the way she lets the words form on her tongue. It’s also possible that he needs to stop thinking about her lips and tongue before he embarrasses himself, but he’s quite good at embarrassing himself, so he may not have a chance in hell at that either.

“Thank you. We’ve had it for a while, traded up a couple of years back, so it’s not the disaster the first flat was, but it’s…” He stops himself from talking, from letting his nervousness send him tripping over his tongue like it’s one of his limbs and the gangly mess they were before he managed to grow into them. “Thank you.”

She smiles and he has to do the same in return, can’t help it. She’s contagious in all the ways that he loves – her smile, her laugh, her excitement – and none of the ways that Matthew and Jamie would tease him for, and _have_ teased him for, given that his taste in women has, on occasion, been dubious at best. But she’s perfect, just like the bloody Disney film they’re in, because she’s sweet and kind and innocent and he really is just standing there smiling at her like a git, isn’t he?

“Would you like something to drink? We’ve got water and beer and…” He darts into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and stopping, frowning at the lack of contents. “Er, well. We’ve got water and beer.”

“Water’s fine.”

“Good. Good.” He grabs two and closes the door, setting one down before trying to open one, knowing his luck and knowing one of them would end up wearing the contents. He twists the cap and hands it to her, and he really can’t help smiling more. She’s here, and he never thought that, certainly didn’t expect it on the set when she leaned into him and rested her hand on his shoulder and suggested they practice some of their scenes together off the set. It’d taken him nearly twenty minutes to clue into the fact that she was asking him to kiss her, but he’d managed it a few moments before he looked like a case for mental retardation, and agreed, offering up his flat in one rushed statement that made her eyes flash with humor and earned him the right to sigh in complete relief.

“You like living with Matthew?” She walks along the davenport, her fingers trailing over the blanket draped across the back, the red, white and green of the Welsh flag in horrible contrast to the second-hand furniture, all of it in glaring shades of orange and blue.

“Er, well, he could be worse.” He smiles and blushes as she laughs, shaking her head. “He’s a good bloke, a good mate. Doesn’t kick me out when I bollocks up paying the bills on my turn.”

“You mentioned you were nearly late the other day because of your power?”

“Er, yes. Got shut off.” He blushes even deeper, feeling the tips of his ears turn red. “Better now. Obviously. As the water’s cold.”

“So it is.” She takes a sip and he watches her swallow, watches her move, watches her. He has an alarming feeling that he’s falling head over heels and he’s about to become one of those Hollywood clichés where the stars fall in love with each other during filming and get married and have children and then end horribly, their lives played out on televisions everywhere on Entertainment Tonight and in the Sun. But then, he also thinks maybe since they’re not in Hollywood, and he’s not sure that he’s likely to ever get there, maybe this is just them, falling in love.

Or, well, him.

“And is Matthew home?”

“Er, no. He’s off. Filming. Um…something. I’m really a terrible flatmate. Can’t remember from day to day. I’m supposed to water his plant, but I’ve already gone a week without and now it’s buried in his room behind all the junk that I shoved in there three minutes before you arrived and so, um.” He blushes deeper and takes a long swallow of his water. “Plant’s going to die, but really it’s his own fault. Would you trust the bloke who can’t remember to pay the electric to water your plant?”

“No. I probably wouldn’t.” She finishes her water and sets it on the table and he watches her again, the way her skirt moves in the fading light near the window, the way the light burns through the fabric and accents her legs and thighs and hips, the way she looks at him with a smile he’s never quite seen before. “But then, I’m sure you have your uses, don’t you think? I mean, beyond killing plants and shutting off the essentials of survival?”

“I always have beer stocked. And when I mess up horribly badly, I buy take away.” He takes a step forward and reaches out, brushing her cheek with his fingers. “We were going to practice.”

“We could,” she agrees softly, closing her eyes as his hands make their way from cheek to jaw and then along around to her chin. “Or we could skip practicing and just try the real thing.”

He nods and closes his eyes as well, holding her there as he leans in and kisses her, mouths warm and soft together and perfect. Made for each other, he thinks as she touches his hip, hand settling on it, and pushes just enough that he takes the hint and walks backwards – slowly, carefully – until his hand finds the door to his bedroom and opens it, with no intentions whatsoever of showing her the rest of the flat.

He wakes up alone, which bothers him more than he cares to admit, but there’s noise in the other room, so he gets out of bed and scratches his rumpled hair, finger-combing the curls into something almost manageable. He stops in the doorway and smiles at her, standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt. Breakfast is cooking, and he’ll have to pay her back for the groceries, but for now, all he can see is her, and all he can smell is coffee and the soft perfume of the roses in their makeshift vase.  



End file.
